


how to get over a one-night stand that could have been so much more

by porcelainanimals



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-25
Updated: 2013-11-25
Packaged: 2018-01-02 14:19:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1057788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/porcelainanimals/pseuds/porcelainanimals
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean wakes up in a pool of self-loathing and pity and questions. How he shouldn’t have and how he could have swirl in his head like ghosts as he fights a raging hangover, running his fingers lightly over a bare shoulder that lies next to his, and wonders what it would be like if he presses kisses to that skin already dotted with marks and bruises, tell-tale signs of what happened last night, what shouldn’t have happened. He remembers the name Armin had whimpered as he came, how that name wasn’t his, and knows this is a terrible, terrible idea as he clenches his hands and pulls away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	how to get over a one-night stand that could have been so much more

**Author's Note:**

> whispers I've fallen into a deep hole and I can't get back out my life is being ruined by these fictional boys 
> 
> As always, you can find me on tumblr as dates-at-the-zoo! Feel free to send me any prompts, questions, headcanons you might have!

**Step One. You hate yourself.**  
Jean wakes up in a pool of self-loathing and pity and questions. How he shouldn't have and how he could have swirl in his head like ghosts as he fights a raging hangover, running his fingers lightly over a bare shoulder that lies next to his, and wonders what it would be like if he presses kisses to that skin already dotted with marks and bruises, tell-tale signs of what happened last night, what shouldn't have happened. He remembers the name Armin had whimpered as he came, how that name wasn't his, and knows this is a terrible, terrible idea as he clenches his hands and pulls away.

He gets dressed wordlessly, quietly, hoping, praying not to wake that small, slumbering figure tangled in messy sheets, and winces at the red marks streaking down his back he spies in the bathroom mirror. He's reaching out for a toothbrush when he realizes that it's not his, that this isn't his place to be, and hates himself for falling so fast. Armin has always fascinated him with his messy hair and over-sized sweaters, dusty tomes and blue eyes. He groans, rinsing out his mouth with some borrowed mouthwash before stumbling out of the room. He realizes on the way home that maybe he should have left a note. A number. An apology.

Armin and Jean are _not_ friends. They're acquaintances with friends who run in the same social group. Armin and Marco are friendly, and Jean knows Sasha, fiancee of Connie, Eren's other best friend. They've had classes together. They've passed by in crowded hallways and have said hello, have smiled at each other, and Jean is way too smitten for this to be real.

 **Step Two. You get rid of that hangover.**  
With a loud cry, he stumbles through the door of his own apartment, trips over shoes that aren't supposed to be there, and lies on the floor, the cold of the tiles seeping into his bones. He could fall asleep like this, he thinks, and is just about to close his eyes when -

"What the hell happened to you?"

Marco appears, a bottle of water in one hand, a jar of painkillers in the other, and Jean groans, reaching for them pathetically. "Marco. You're amazing."

"There's fresh coffee in the kitchen," Marco sighs, long suffering best friend, and Jean crawls his way to the coffee pot. "Seriously though, what did you do last night after I left?"

"I counted like, 5 more shots and then..." And then there was a hot mouth pressed up against his own, hungry, searching, and skin, flushed skin. He remembers bedsheets that smelled faintly floral and the way Armin had looked splayed out across his pillows, flushed and gasping, the noises he had made when Jean...

"Jean?"

"I don't know," he lies, scrambling to his feet to pour himself a cup of coffee. Something is pounding in his head like a bad high school marching band and he just needs Marco to stop talking, to stop asking questions. Marco gives him a strange look, halfway between crying and yelling, and Jean just closes his eyes as he drinks, the hot, bitter liquid pooling in his stomach, settling heavily. "I'm going to bed."

 **Step Three. You avoid said one-night stand like the plague.**  
Jean can't help feeling a little stalkerish as he watches Armin in class the next day from the back row, hood drawn and notebook propped up for extra stealth.

"What are you doing?" Marco hisses in his ear and he yelps, accidentally launching a pen through the lecture hall. There are a few snickers but he ignores them in favour of ducking further into his seat when Armin's eyes flash over him.

"Nothing," he whispers, motioning for Marco to either go away or shut up. Marco rolls his eyes and takes his seat, neatly laying out his things and Jean is suddenly struck with the urge to steal one of his pencils or something. "Hey. Does Armin look different to you today?"

Marco raises an eyebrow but looks toward said blond and shrugs. "I dunno. Guess he looks tired. He was probably up late doing that assignment for writing. Why?"

" _We have an assignment for writing?_ What?"

His friend shushes him as the professor walks in and Jean spends the rest of the hour doodling and sneaking glances at Armin. Armin doesn't look his direction, not once, for the entire day. It kind of hurts.

 **Step four. You get piss drunk. Again.**  
"I think you've had enough," Marco sighs, gently prying the bottle from Jean's clutches, and Jean is more offended than anything.

"Thhhhink I can't take my alcohol?" He slurs, pushing him away. "Think I don't know how much I've had? I can do so much more, dude, just you watch."

"Jean. Stop." The voice he uses is firm and scolding and usually reserved for the children he babysits when money's tight or the neighbor's dog, and Jean whimpers, cradling his head in his arms. "What's wrong with you?"

There's a cool hand running through his hair, soothing against his burning skin and Jean lets out a soft grunt. When he closes his eyes, he still sees Armin laughing as Jean stumbles through a bad pick-up line or two, Armin smirking as he leads him out of the club, Armin undressing slowly, teasingly for him, Armin crying out his name. In Armin's defense, he'd only slipped up once, but it's just a moment's hesitation that's keeping Jean from launching himself at the other. "You think we'd work out together? Hmm?"

Marco's hand pauses and slowly draws away. When he speaks up, it's quiet and hesitant, although Jean hardly thinks it's important. "Who's we?"

"You know, _we_."

 **Step five. Repeat step four until you've fucked up too much.**  
This is wrong, he thinks as he kisses every freckle on Marco's body, each and every one, and Marco sighs, trembling as he lifts Jean's chin up for a proper kiss. Through the haze of alcohol and cigarettes he shouldn't be smoking, Marco is solid and real and moaning under his fingertips, and Jean decides he likes the way Marco's voice sounds when he makes those high pitched noises. He murmurs something, a half-garbled version of Marco's name, as fingers curl around him, and he doesn't know how to think anymore.

The morning is a terrible reminder of what shouldn't have happened last night, and Jean stares up at the ceiling fan as he lies in Marco's bed. There are still empty beer cans and an opened bottle of vodka in the kitchen; he faintly remembers challenging Marco to a drinking game before smashing their faces together. He's a little shit is what he is, and when Marco finally stirs and whispers his name hesitantly, longingly, he feels like his world is slowly breaking apart.

"I've liked you for a while," Marco admits quietly, laughing nervously as he scratches the back of his neck and Jean isn't sure what to do. "It's okay if you don't like me back. Guess I just wanted to tell you. That's it."

"Oh," is all he can think of to reply and Marco links their fingers together, leaning against his shoulder, and Jean thinks he might be crying.

"I've liked you for forever," comes the soft whisper as Marco kisses the space between his shoulder blades, gentle, kind. Marco.

 **Step six. Try your best to stay sober.**  
Jean stares at the cup of soda before him like it's poison, and Connie laughs, slapping him affectionately.

"What, you getting old?" Connie cackles like it's the funniest thing he's ever said and it just might be. Jean pushes him away and resumes his staring match with his non-alcoholic drink. Out of the corner of his eye, he spies Armin and Eren in what appears to be a very serious conversation. Eren looks uncomfortable and Armin looks upset, and if Jean wasn't sober, maybe he'd barge in between them and push them apart with the force of the raging jealous he's suddenly experiencing. And then, Eren's kissing Armin and Jean spills soda all over the counter. He doesn't see Marco's eyes softening as he stumbles his way out of the party. This is fucked up, he thinks, fingers reaching shakily into his pocket for the packet he knows is there and he lights up. He chokes on the smoke and lets the cigarette fall to the pavement, watches the embers flicker and die, and feels like the biggest loser.

He spends the rest of the night on the balcony and Marco comes out to join him. There's an awkward space of at least half a foot between them and Jean looks at him warily. "Sorry," he offers.

"For?"

"For fucking everything up?"

Marco laughs, low and rumbling, and then they're both laughing because this is so stupid. Everything is stupid and Jean can't breathe as he feels the tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. It's funny because it hurts so much, because this life is too raw, too much for him to wrap his mind around, and he never signed up for this.

"It's alright," Marco finally wheezes, hand clutched to his stomach. "I know you like Armin. It would never work out between us anyways."

"You know I like - who?!" Jean splutters like a fish out of water, eyes wide, and Marco breaks out into another fit of breathless giggles.

"Did you think you were being subtle about it?!"

 **Step seven. Maybe you should talk to him.**  
Armin looks terrible. He's got dark circles under his eyes and he's wearing his sweater inside out. Jean pulls him aside after lecture, demands to talk, and Armin just follows him wordlessly back to his apartment. Jean plays the host well, taking his jacket for him, offering him something to drink, something to eat, and Armin curls up on his sofa like he's trying to disappear.

"So where do we even start?" He asks, mumbling, and Armin stares up at him with an incredulous expression. "You want to start from that night at the club or what?"

Armin chuckles humorlessly, clutching a pillow to his chest, and slowly starts talking. He's had a thing for Eren since they were kids. A serious thing. And maybe, maybe Eren liked him back at one point, but he might have missed it. "I never meant for it to happen. I mean, whatever happened between you and me. It shouldn't have."

"Do you regret it?" Jean desperately hopes he doesn't although he knows he should.

"Maybe," Armin sighs, picking at a loose strand. "Maybe there was part of me hoping that I'd fall out of love with Eren. I was using you as a distraction."

"I don't mind," he blurts loudly, and Armin squints at him. "Being a distraction. I mean, as long as I'm not a distraction forever."

"You're too kind," Armin laughs, reaching out to brush his fingers against his cheek lightly. "I thought if I told Eren how I felt, that maybe he'd say yes. That maybe he'd tell me oh yeah, Armin, I've had feelings for you too, and we'd make out and everything would be perfect."

"And he said no."

"He said no. And then I asked him to kiss me. So he did."

Jean just nods and leans in a little closer so that there's only a few inches between them, a few desperately long inches, and he could reach out, touch his face, kiss his lips, hold him. "And then what happened?"

"I got really fucking drunk. I ended up throwing up in the alley before Connie dragged me home. Not before I puked in his car though."

"Oh. That's a bummer." There's a silence that hangs comfortably somehow and Jean decides he likes the way their breaths mingle. Before he can stop himself, he's tilting his head down and his lips brush against Armin's cheek. "I like you," he whispers, his heart clenching inside of him. "I've liked you for a long time now."

Armin sighs but doesn't move away. Jean wonders if this is a good sign, if it would be alright to link their fingers together. Since he's already digging this hole, he might as well, so he does. Armin's fingers are smaller than he remembers, but they're warm. "I don't think I'm ready for a relationship. Not yet. I'm still not over Eren."

"I don't mind waiting."

"And what if you're waiting for a long time?"

"Dunno. We can always go from here. I can't make promises but I know I like you a lot to not give up. Not for a while."

Armin shivers against him and Jean kisses his cheek again. And again. And again.

 **Step eight. You apologize. To everybody.**  
"I'm sorry I threw up in your bathroom," he tells Eren, and dodges a punch. "I didn't realize giving head while drunk was such a bad idea."

"I'm sorry I ran out without paying the tab." He hands Krista a fifty and she just smiles. "Thanks for covering me. I hope that's enough."

"I'm sorry for being the worst roommate and friend ever," he groans as Marco opens the door for him after he's forgotten his key for the millionth time. "I brought takeout though. Your favourite."

"That's a start," Marco laughs, taking some of the bags from him. "Jeez, you got enough to feed at least a hundred people."

"I'm sure we can manage," Jean grins, pulling out a bottle of wine. "Don't worry. You are going to drink most of this so I won't get drunk again."

"So, did you and Armin make up yet?" Marco lays out plates neatly and Jean picks up a piece of chicken with his fingers, chewing noisily. "You two were looking awfully close when I saw you guys at lunch."

"That's..." Jean turns bright red, grabbing another piece of meat and speaks with his mouth full. "Getting a meal as friends. You know. Friends."

"Friends," Marco repeats, looking rather amused. "Friends who play footsie and feed each fries? You two were disgusting."

"Sorry."

"Don't be. You're not so much of a catch that the sight of you with another guy is heartbreaking." Marco steals an egg roll from Jean's plate, looking awfully smug. "I'm serious. It's been a while. I'm not going to say I'm over you completely, but you know."

"Excuse me? I am a great catch. I am the catchiest of catches," Jean huffs, stabbing at his noodles. "Yeah, I know, but I still feel bad. I think I'm going to feel bad until you hook up. Speaking of which, did you see the way that girl was staring at you at Starbucks?"

"Ugh, girls." He makes a face, pouring himself a generous glass of wine. "Cooties."

"Bertholdt was giving you eyes the other day," Jean adds casually, and Marco chokes, spraying wine all over the table. "What are you doing?! That's nasty!"

"Nothing," Marco gasps, coughing into a napkin. " _Nothing_."

Later, he'll offer to do the dishes and Marco will help him. They'll play some video games, watch a movie, and things will be like they used to be. Almost. He'll text Armin something stupid and receive a witty remark that will make him laugh, will make his heart flutter a little, and Marco will try to sneakily text someone without Jean seeing.

He's got plans to meet up for dinner with Armin tomorrow and he'll agonize over his outfit for hours even though this isn't, strictly speaking, a date. He hopes Armin will like his cologne. He thinks of small fingers and soft blond hair as he falls asleep, phone clutched in his hands, and tomorrow will be a new day.


End file.
